


Black Tie Optional

by handyhunter



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: OT3, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handyhunter/pseuds/handyhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All dressed up and nowhere to go. Luckily, Jean has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Tie Optional

Several items hover busily over the hastily made bed, but Scott's eyes are drawn to Jean, sitting in the middle of the chaos, as her hairdryer and curlers and hair brush fly around her head and in her hair. She props a bare foot on a low, wooden stool and works a sheer stocking over her toes. . .then ankle. . .and up her long, long leg. It ends mid thigh and matches her underwear, which Scott is quite sure are new. All that skin, bracketed by flimsy, lacy things, is making him a bit light-headed.

Scott leans against the door frame, and the reminder that they are going to be late dies somewhere between his brain and larynx. _Never mind. Take your time._

She smiles, looks at him through a fall of hair, and bends her other leg to slip on the other stocking. _Oh, I will._

This seems like a good time to start being irresponsible, a thought Scott keeps to himself. He moves so he's standing in front of her, over her, and bends down; his hands brace on the mattress on either side of her hips. The hairdryer and its accompaniments lands in a heap behind them.

"Really, Mr. Summers, whatever are you up to?" Jean leans back on her elbows, blowing hair out of her face. "You'll get all wrinkled."

"I honestly don't care," he says, and then she reaches up and kisses him.

He closes his eyes and thinks about moving his hands from the bed and onto her waist, and letting them both fall back. Before he can put thought into action though, Jean shifts back a fraction -- in a way that Scott doesn't think is an invitation, although she still has her fingers hooked in his belt.

"Logan!" she says.

"Okay. Not the reaction I was hoping for." Scott frowns at Jean, but she is too busy peeking around his arm to notice. He turns around slowly.

"How long have you been standing there?" Scott demands, tampering down the urge to blast the blatant look of interest off the other man's face. Jean stands up, half-hidden behind him, and drapes an arm over his shoulder, fingers trailing down to his chest. She leans against him so her breasts press against his back and her breath warms his ear. _I'm not sure it was _me_ he was staring at. . ._

_I'm not the one dressed only in my underwear,_ Scott fires back unfairly; it's not her he's upset with.

Logan shrugs. "Long enough."

_Well, not just me, then,_ amends Jean. _And don't shout. I'm right here._

_Can't you make him go away?_ Out loud, he says, "What do you want, Logan?"

"Either of you know what to do with one of these?" He dangles a tie from two fingers, holding it out in front of him like it might bite. "It's from Marie. The kid's all excited about this dinner."

Scott's irritation recedes slightly, enough for him to notice that Logan is wearing. Not tattered jeans and flannel shirts. Instead, Logan is dressed _nicely_ \- dark dress pants, a button-down shirt of some indeterminate colour (though the top buttons were undone) - and has even shined his combat boots and washed his hair. "I thought you said you weren't interested in meeting 'Chuck's old friends.'"

"I ain't." Logan looks at the tie in his hand. "Gotta make sure the kid's alright, though."

"You signed on to be a chaperone?" Jean is smiling, Scott can tell. "Here, take Scott." She gives him a push towards Logan and the door. "He can help you get dressed."

_Jean!_ But even as he protests, an unseen force propels him and Logan out into the hall and the door slams shut behind them.

"Well," says Logan. "Guess you're going to the damn party too."

***

Logan doesn't like the way the suit feels. It's borrowed, from Peter Rasputin (or possibly from Peter's father; in any case, it smells like it's been hanging in a closet of mothballs for years), so it's a little too big in the shoulder and long in the arms; but, even so, it feels constrictive. He draws the line at sharing shoes, and instead has on his well-worn boots, cleaned up and spit-shined (some things he remembers without knowing how, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on that today). The steel toes and dependable traction make him a little more comfortable.

He does, however, like the way Jean looks him up and down, even as she's got her hands all over Summers, who doesn't know how lucky he is.

He was sent by Ororo to round up everyone. He knocked on Marie's door and Kitty Pryde stuck her head through it to tell him to go away, they weren't ready yet. So he went down another hall to Jean's room, and was caught staring and had to make up some reason for being there.

Which is why, now, Scott is standing toe to toe with him and attempting to strangle him with a loop of fabric.

"Stop moving. It won't hurt." Scott's lips purse, which is distracting, though not from how closely he's standing. Logan wonders if Jean can hear his thoughts; if she hears him, she isn't letting on. "Try not to stab me, please. We don't all have a healing factor." Logan clenches his fingers into fists, cracks his knuckles and keeps his claws sheathed.

"Wolvie!" He and Summers both turn at the exclamation; it was a new nickname one of the kids - Jubilee, he suspects - coined. Next training session he'll put a stop to it. "You look spiffy!" Rogue grins at him, quite a vision herself in a long green dress that leaves entirely too little up to the imagination.

"That Drake kid better watch himself," he grumbles.

Marie waves one gloved hand at him. "I can take care of myself, Logan." She races, as much racing as can be done in heels, to the stairs, where Kitty is waiting. "See you there! You too, Mr. Summers!"

Logan sneezes. Candy-scented perfume still lingers heavily in the corridor, mixed in with too much aftershave and cologne. He sniffs again. Scott tilts his head; for someone whose eyes you couldn't see, he sure had a way with disapproving expressions. "Don't worry, it ain't you. You don't stink."

"Thanks," Scott says dryly. "I'm so glad you think so."

They wait around for a few more minutes and then Logan comes up with an excellent idea. "Want a beer?"

***

When Jean steps out into the hallway, it's a little too quiet in the mansion. _Scott?_

_In the kitchen, hon._

She enters the well-lit room just in time to hear, ". . .my car. . .my bike. . .my beer," then Scott's eyes light on her, ". . .my girl." He moves around the counter, where he and Logan have been having a bottle label peeling contest, from the looks of it, and slings an arm around her shoulder, hugging her tight.

"I suppose it's good to know where I stand," she says, elbowing Scott for a little breathing room. "How many have you had?"

Logan holds up two fingers, and Scott nods. "He's a lightweight, Jeannie."

"Especially on an empty stomach. Where is everyone, by the way?"

"Left." Logan pops off a bottle cap with a claw. "Said they'd send a car back for us."

Jean considers the beer Logan hands her, and Scott's relaxed mood. "I can think of a better way to pass the time."

"We could take one of the other cars in the garage," Scott interjects.

"Scott?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up." She kisses him to ensure he stops talking, and allows him to see images that have been gathering in her mind. Mostly, it's hazy, the headlong rush of need and want, his fingers and mouth on her, silk on skin. . .and growling, scruffy hair, an unfamiliar body.

"Oh." Scott adds details: ties, claws, blindfolds. "Okay."

Jean arches an eyebrow at Logan. "Well?"

***

Scott is terribly authoritarian in bed, Logan finds out quickly. He issues directives like, "There, stop, move over, harder, faster," like he's in the Danger room. Logan is half tempted to pull down Scott's blindfold and use it to gag him. Luckily, he's used to ignoring Scott's orders, unless they're _really_ important. Or when Jean has her hands on his dick and is more or less repeating what Scott is saying. He notices, too, that for as mouthy as Scott is with him, he doesn't say much to Jean, not out loud anyway.

Jean, for her part, _likes_ when Scott gets demanding. Oh, of course, she enjoys when he turns his singleminded attention on her, but she also finds him incredibly attractive when, with the help of two beers (and Logan), he is reckless and very, very nearly out of control. Logan's teeth graze Scott's jaw, dark eyes watching her, and Scott bucks underneath her. Jean breaks eye contact with Logan as she shudders, going white-hot for a moment that lasts almost too long, before spiraling down to sensations that are more bearable. This was one of her better ideas, she thinks.

One of the benefits of sleeping with a telepath, or this one telepath in particular, with whom he shares a mental connection, is that he feels what she feels; his desire tangles with hers, until he can no longer tell them apart. With Logan, he's not sure how much lust for the man is his and how much is Jean's, but he's pretty sure he doesn't care right now. His eyes are bound tightly with someone's tie - he's lost track of whose - but he doesn't need to see to feel his way around Jean (who is in his head and heart and the blood thundering through his veins) or Logan (who mutters a lot and is _everywhere_, never out of reach). When Jean comes, Scott wonders if Logan can see the Phoenix and sparks of fire behind his own eyelids, or in her eyes.

***

After they've returned to semi-coherency and straightened out whose limbs belong to whom, Scott exchanges his blindfold for a pair of glasses. He checks the clock. Surprisingly, it is not quite nine yet.

"If we hurry, we can still catch the end of Hank's speech. And the food," he adds, for Logan's benefit.

"Must we?" says Jean, but she sits up and leans against him. "Okay. I can get dressed again. But I'm only going for the food."

"I'll be sure to let Hank know." Scott bumps her shoulder lightly with his own, and they all sit for a minute longer.

Then, Jean disappears into the bathroom, and Scott eyes Logan. "So."

"So," Logan echoes. He picks at the threads on the blanket and Scott resists the impulse to tell him to stop, or to deliver a warning blast to Logan's hand, whichever would achieve a more agreeable result.

"What do you say we--" he starts to say, but Logan interrupts him.

"Never speak of this?"

"I was going to say 'put some clothes on', but your way works too." His clothes are rumpled almost beyond recognition, unlike Logan's or Jean's, but their clothing had come off much sooner than his. He is missing buttons too. "This was just a momentary incident of insanity. A clothing fluke."

Logan pauses in the act of stepping into his pants. "Are you telling me _not_ to get dressed?"

"Oh, no," Scott waves his free hand, the one not holding up his clothes, at Logan, "by all means. I just think this is unlikely to occur again. . ."

Jean chooses that moment to step out of the bathroom, and Scott knows he's staring, but he can't help it. She will always be the most beautiful thing in the world-- and, this is why he doesn't imbibe much; it turns his brain to mush, even after the more acute effects had to have worn off.

_I don't mind, as long as you keep saying stuff like that._ Jean smiles at him. "But you really should put some pants on, dear. I'll wait for you downstairs."

Logan holds the door open for Jean, and backtracks to pick up his crumpled tie, which has also been sliced neatly in half. He sticks both pieces in his jacket pocket. "Good thing the invite said 'tie optional.'"

Even Scott has to laugh at that, as he goes in search of his second best suit.


End file.
